Transformers: Nevermore
by Frog-Lizard
Summary: AU. On a Cybertron at peace, where war is a foriegn word, there are tales of monsters that haunt the shadows with gleaming red optics. Most do not believe these to be more than dreadful stories told only to get young bots to behave. What secrets lie deep beneath the city streets? What mysteries are best left un-investigated? And what will be the price should someone try?
1. Chapter 1: The Spark of the Matter

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, or the premise of the Transformers franchise, this is just my own alternate version of them.

Frog: In honor of my birthday, I am posting the beginning of my latest and greatest project: the Nevermore series! This is an original AU where the Autobot/Decepticon war never took place. In fact, only a very small percentage of the populace has ever heard of a Decepticon. I've taken many of my favorite characters ideas from various TF series and fanons and pulled them into one. I'll mostly be drawing from G1 interpretations for a start, though. Hopefully this will be a fun experience for all of us involved, but I understand if you don't like all of my ideas. You're entitled to your opinions, and this fic certainly isn't for everyone ;) I do plan to re-invent some characters in ways you probably aren't going to suspect.

Honestly, I could use a beta for this project, and the person I contacting some months ago never got back to me. Which I understand, life is busy. So if anyone is willing to do some editing for me, or give me some constructive critique, I'm readily accepting of it. Forethought isn't always my strong suit, I tend to leave plot holes by accident because I'm so focused on the point I'm at present trying to get across.

But enough of my rambling, please enjoy chapter one ;)

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Time measurements to approximate Earth equivalent:

Klik: 1 minute

Breem: 6 minutes

Joor: 6 hours

Orn: 360 hours (2 weeks)

Iorn: 540 hours (3 weeks)

Cycle: 60 days (8.5 weeks).  
One Cycle is defined by two Iorns (light shifts) and one Orn (dark-shift). Could be compared to one Cybertronian day.

Para-Cycle: 12 cycles (2 years)

Vorn: 7 Para-Cycles (84 years)

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_And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting_  
_On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;_  
_And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming,_  
_And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;_  
_And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor_  
_Shall be lifted-nevermore!_  
-from E. A. Poe's 'Nevermore'

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**Chapter One: The Spark of the Matter**

-10 vorns ago-

He was so unaccustomed to this….silence. To think it was something that he sought out cycle to cycle, but now that he had it, it was almost too much to bare. It…unnerved him to say the least.

And Ratchet was _never _unnerved.

The CMO's frame was unnaturally lax as it was slumped into his chair, making him appear almost small compared to the grim walls of his office. Inwardly he was chastising himself for being so weak. He knew this was going to happen, after all. The statistics just hadn't been in their favor. Even something as miraculous as the Cybertronian spark had its limits.

The spark was a marvelous thing. Life in a tangible form. Not fully understood, and yet at the core of each and every one of their beings. So very fragile and yet often described as strong.

It could be joined to other sparks and yet remain singular. Two sparks connected by such a bond could then communicate without the need of any device or program, regardless of the distance between them.

If two sparks that shared no natural bonds were connected, the beings attached to them then became "mates". These bonds were special in that as the sparks communicated back and forth, excess energy was produced. This energy could then either be used as emergency stores or harvested and formed into a new, smaller spark.

Ratchet had performed procedures such as these countless times before, but despite all the technology their race had been blessed enough to create, the mortality rate of these operations was still high.

The amount of excess energy needed to create new sparks as small as they did was astounding to those whom had never seen it first-hand. And it was all about timing. The procedure, when stopped too soon, could create backlashes of energy into the sparks of the participants, but if one waited too long, the energy drain could turn just as lethal. Not to mention that mates rarely had identical amounts of surplus energy, which only served to further complicate what had to be done.

Ratchet knew this. He had witnessed many sparks die out as they gave new life into the universe.

And barely a joor prior, his own mate had made that very same sacrifice.

"Ratchet?" a low voice called through the door. When no response was given, the unwanted guest simply let himself in.

The CMO barely glanced up as Optimus Prime stepped into the room and let the door hiss shut quietly behind him. With astonishing grace for a mech his size, he entered the room and debated taking the chair that sat lonely in the corner. However, his attention was rather soon drawn to the nesting box on the far side of the room.

Without so much as speaking to Ratchet, he approached the box in a matter of a few long strides. The bottom was made up of tightly wound wires that were interwoven into a springy sort of fabric. Various shaped pieces of warmed soft metal littered the bottom of the box, most congregated in the center around two softly humming Cybertronian frames, just the right size for newly emerged sparks, deep in recharge. Finally Optimus turned back to the CMO with a compassionate smile.

"Your mate would have been proud. Twins aren't easy to create, or so I'm told."

"I am aware of that Optimus," the medic sighed, begrudgingly rising from his seat and coming to stand by the leader of the Autobot Protection Forces, "As you should be, seeing as you and your brother were orphaned under the very same circumstances."

"Yes, but we didn't have either creator, these little ones at least have you."

A scoff, "Touching thought, but there are mechs who will think they would be better off orphans than have me raising them."

"Only because you are such a devoted, caring medic who is very busy tending to his patients," Optimus teased lightly.

The CMO gave him a dull look, "Irony and sarcasm are not your forte. Please avoid them in the future."

"If you say so."

They lapsed into silence as one of the small frames, sparklings they were called, twitched in a side-effect to all the varied programs and relays that it had to process through before it could truly come online for the first time. Some aged but adequate monitors beeped back in response, signaling that process was moving on as expected. Ratchet huffed in satisfaction, returning to his desk.

Optimus watched the quiet frames a moment longer and then finally turned for the door, "I shall leave you to your thoughts then," he paused, "Just…remember you're not alone, Ratchet. You are never alone."

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-9 klicks ago-

The number of orphans that Cybertron was home to was staggering. Blaster, as young as he was, could not comprehend why so many couples felt the need to put their own lives at risk like they obviously did. He had to guess that most thought "_it wouldn't happen to them_". And granted, there were many young bots that had both their parents, and several that at least had one.

As for orphans like Blaster, one of two fates awaited them. On the one hand, they could be adopted into hopefully loving families, allowed to make choices for the progression of them lives, but generally be doomed to an unremarkable sort of life of mediocrity. The other half was "apprenticed", taken in by adults who were too busy for relationships and too important to risk their lives in spark creation. These were talented individuals who trained their adoptees rather than raised them, following the intent that their ward would eventually be marked an equal in skill. Most officers, politicians and similar renowned or wealthy individuals had been _apprenticed_ by their predecessors, and they would in turn take apprentices of their own who would take their place if worst came to worst or the bot in question chose to move on or retire.

Blaster fell into this latter category, and sometimes it made him wish his spark had never been created at all. Only four vorns in to the youngling stage of his life, he was well acquainted with the high expectations that came from being a pupil to one Soundwave, Commander of the Enforcers wing of the Autobot Protection Force. Other bots were always watching him, waiting to see how he would turn out, hoping they'd have another grossly talented expert on everything that would work for the Autobots until his spark died out like Soundwave was lofted to be.

He was tired of being compared to Soundwave. In fact, he was tired of Soundwave, period. The femme could die at her work station for all he cared.

It was all he could do to slip away a little each Cycle, away from everyone and everything Autobot, hiding away in his usual alleyway that gave him comfortable distance from the main Iacon Command complex.

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-8 Para-Cycles ago-

Nothing gripped his spark with such urgency as when he had a quota to fill. Whether it be for a shipment of questionable meds for an alternative care facility or weapons for a gang of thieves, Swindle lived for his bigger orders. Sometimes, when buying surplus of this, that or the other thing, he would set a goal for himself to sell a certain percentage by a certain date. It kept his drive going, keeping his edge over the competition when it came to black market sales.

Yet even a greedy merchant such as himself had a few moral standards that he would prefer to avoid. But it got complicated when the stakes weren't for profit, but for his own life. Serves him right for snooping around where he didn't belong. Now every few vorns, he had to pay the price with his own guilt.

His quota involved a bot. No one specific, but they _did_ have to meet a certain set of parameters. The problem came in that one of those parameters required this bot be young, as in, pre-final frame young. It didn't really matter where they came from, he just didn't want to get caught, for obvious reasons.

He'd found a young spark that looked promising for his most recent quota. Just barely into his fledgling frame, the mech was a loner and all but absent from his own life. He had an ego from what Swindle had observed or otherwise discovered, and that always helped. It gave him something to play to. And young bots were oh so easily swayed by his silver glossa, that alone almost made him feel bad for doing it.

"So you can find a bot to apprentice me," Dead End repeated slowly, "Despite my age."

"Of course!" Swindle beamed pleasantly, "These mechs don't really…qualify for most apprenticeship programs, but…"

"So what you're saying is, it's illegal."

"Well not _entirely_, but," Swindle reset his vocalizer, "They are very skilled, I assure you. And in the end, what's more important? The legitimacy of your training, or the fact that you get training at all. I hear you aren't quite satisfied with you present education. This could be a chance to greatly expand your horizons."

The fledgling paused in thought, "What are their skills?"

"See, that's the beauty of it. They've got bots that are skilled in just about _everything_ you can think of."

"Will I have any say?"

"Don't know, honestly," Swindle shrugged, "I'm certain they will place you where you can best test your abilities."

Dead End looked down again, then back at the route he had been taking to get home, and finally back up to Swindle, "I have nothing to lose."

Swindle smirked broadly, dropping an arm around the younger mech's shoulders and leading him away, "That's what I like to hear!"

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-7 klicks ago-

A familiar rhythm of quiet taps met Blaster's audios, bringing a weak smile to the youngling's faceplates, "Hey Steeljaw."

The cybercat uttered a small growl in greeting and padded over to plop down next to the young mech. They sat by the wall in companionable silence, both fulfilling what they had come out here to do just by sitting quietly; Blaster could sit in peace and ponder his thoughts uninterrupted and Steeljaw could watch over the small apprentice as per Master's orders.

Blaster was even willing to consider them friends sometimes, despite the fact that the cybercat's main job was to be a chaperone and guard. At worst he would have to insist that Steeljaw take his sentry to the shadows where the young mech didn't have to look at him. He'd given up telling the semi-sentient drone to just go away some time ago, orders from higher powers always overrode those of a grumpy youngling.

Right now, though, Blaster was strangely grateful for the company.

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-6 Para-Cycles ago-

"The incubation of the sparks for Project Seeker is nearing its completion," Perceptor reported almost before the door to Wheeljack's lab had fully opened.

"Uh-huh," came the distracted response from the back of the messy lab as the inventor fiddled with a complex knot of wires.

Perceptor frowned at the improper greeting, but quickly decided he should be used to it by now, "Please pass—"

"Word to Shockwave. Got it."

There was a lengthy pause, "Aren't you supposed to be on this project as well?"

The inventor finally looked up from his work, "Not interested."

Another frown from Cybertron's highest ranking scientific authority, "And why, praytell, not? Cybertronians built with flight capabilities will be an immense scientific breakthrough for all of us. Seeing as you are always in attempt to out-perform your teacher, as it were, I would have thought you would wish to be a part of the process."

That struck a chord as Wheeljack set his tools aside. He didn't especially like being reminded that he was now, and likely would be for a long time coming, only considered the apprentice of Shockwave. A full functioning "graduated" apprentice, but still but a student nonetheless.

Wheeljack huffed, his headfins flickering dismissively, "See, that's just it, we already _have_ flying Cybertronians. Shockwave isn't building anything new."

"I presume you are referencing the shuttles," Perceptor sighed, "The primary difference with these '_Seekers_' is that—"

"They fit safely _indoors_. I know!" the inventor grumbled to himself, "Just wait until I prove Shockwave wrong about my mass shifting idea. Then we'll see who's smartest."

"I will be quite interested to see you try that in the future," Perceptor shook his helm, sighing once again.

"I've made progress!" Wheeljack insisted.

"Oh have you?"

"Yep! Using subspace technology!"

Another pause, "As I recall that incident resulted in an explosion that nearly crumpled the entire eastern spire."

Wheeljack's headfins flashed happily, "And _that_ is why I am currently turning _that_ accident into a weapon!"

"Of course you are…"

"And just wait until you see my prototype warp drive!"

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-5 klicks ago-

Blaster yelped as barbs suddenly protruded from Steeljaw's once peacefully swishing tail and the cybercat launched into a defensive position. The young mech scrambled to his feet behind his friend, having the odd thought that the shadows in the ally hadn't been this dark a few klicks ago. Steeljaw growled his displeasure at the situation, trying to back both of them out onto the street.

The youngling, however, was feeling braver, "If you're out there, show yourself!"

A heavy foot, larger than any he had ever seen before emerged from the shadows with a dull thud.

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-4 Para-Cycles ago-

"Do you believe I'm unqualified?"

Kup dropped the forms unceremoniously on his desk to give the mech sitting across from him a critical look, "No Prowl, if anything you're overqualified. Which is why I've got a feeling there's something more to all 'o this."

The Praxian mech barely twitched his otherwise relaxed doorwings, "What makes you say that?"

"You've got some high marks, youngling," Kup gestured to the paperwork before him, "You come with the highest recommendations from all over Praxus as one of the best detectives they've got. In fact, I'd wager that they were unwilling to let you go. But this—" he gestured out the window to the dim skyline of Iacon as the planet itself powered-down for recharge, "Not only are you taking the dark-shift, but you're also out here on the rims of the province. You aren't exactly climbing any ladders, unless you like going backwards. What are you really looking for, Prowl? Got some personal case or other you want to solve."

Prowl frowned minutely, "You could say that."

Kup leaned back in his chair, "And what would that be?"

"Am I required to tell you?" he averted his gaze as the elder mech's optic ridges rose in intrigue.

"So long as it's not illegal, I s'pose not. Though I'm also required to tell you that it can't infringe on your regular work, not that I think it'll be a problem with how little there is to do around here," he smirked, "I'm guessing that was your intention on asking for an interview in my district."

"It was certainly the perk I was looking for, yes," Prowl replied easily.

"In that case," Kup rose from his seat, "Welcome aboard, Prowl. It'll be nice to have a mech with some initiative around here."

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-3 klicks ago-

Blaster had heard stories when he was younger, of giants that lurked the shadows of the dark shift. Monsters with sharp claws that snatched wayward sparklings and younglings and devoured their little sparks. And their defining features were narrow red optics that cast an evil, freezing glow on all they looked upon.

He refused to believe the red aura surrounding him and Steeljaw now could come from these mythical beings that only existed to get troublesome sparklings to behave. But against all better judgment and logic, he found his helm craning upward, gazing into the forboding light of a crimson optic band.

Steeljaw snarled and lunged to meet the hand that materialized from the shadows, but was entrapped by a second and Blaster could only watch in a stunned stupor as the spitting cybercat was brought up to be investigated by this monster of nightmares. He could have sworn he saw the large Cybertronian grin.

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-2 Para-Cycles ago-

Moonracer returned home from the dark shift with a contented sigh. Just another average orn with Kup's team of misfit Enforcers. Their boss had spent most of the shift relaying the same old tales of his glory days that they had heard a thousand times before, Springer had been the only one really paying attention, and even proceeded to act some of his favorite scenes out for _most_ everyone's enjoyment, and Prowl had had the least fun, as always. Sadly, Streetwise had taken a better offer a few orns ago, and the team was sorely missing his presence in the now empty desk across from Prowl's. Kup was looking into finding a replacement. It was hard to find many bots willing to take their shift, except for the total slackers.

But Moonracer wasn't complaining. After all, she didn't plan to stay with Kup's team forever either, as much as she loved them. Right now, it just fit better with her social life. This was good practice, but whenever she decided she was ready to go up in the world, said world had better watch out! Because she was sharpening her skills, ready to come out of nowhere and take 'em all by surprise!

With a satisfied grin, the femme plopped herself down by the window that overlooked the expanse between Iacon and its neighboring provinces. Cybertron dark when she worked, but it was always dark out here. There were no buildings out that way, only a few criss-crossed roads and a lot of piled up debris from ages past. Absently she hoped to see Hound again sometime soon and hear about his patrols in a part of Cybertron that few bots were brave enough to investigate, herself included. Though that never stopped the mystery of it from enchanting her.

Wait…

Had that been there before?

Moonracer hopped back to her feet and parted the forcefield-screens that protected her home from the outside world. There, hanging just precariously from the rim, was a miniature replica of one of the elegant spires that surrounded Iacon Central Command, crudely crafted out some rusting scrap metal. Moonracer turned the item over in awe, finding a small inscription written on base.

"To my lovely guardian of Iacon," she read aloud with a smile, "May you always stand tall."

Enamored by the anonymous gift, she never noticed the red optics watching from the darkness below, nor the hulking figure that disappeared into the shadows.

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-1 klick ago-

"H-hey! Wait! Stop!" Blaster suddenly charged after the stranger as the immense mech turned to leave with a haplessly struggling Steeljaw secured in his grasp, "Give him back!"

The intruder glanced back over his shoulder, and this time Blaster could see for sure that he was smirking broadly, "What? This?"

The youngling paused. It…it spoke?

He gave a hesitant nod and the monster's smirk widened.

"You're gonna have to catch me first."

And with that he once again retreated into the shadows, easily able to outpace a desperate Blaster with his long strides. Eventually the little orange mech lost sight of the hulking frame and found himself lost in the backstreets and alleyways of Iacon.

"Excuse me young mech? Are you alright?" He jumped at suddenly being addressed, causing the black and white Praxian nearby to take a step back. Blaster just looked at him in a surprise as the concerned Enforcer again made to approach him.

"Young mech?"

And suddenly, all the fear and desperation of the past few klicks caught up to him at once.

"It-it was a monster! He took Steeljaw!" he keened desperately. The stranger's wings ticked up in alarm.

"Steeljaw? As in one of Commander Soundwave's symbiotes? That Steeljaw?"

Blaster nodded weakly as the mech knelt down next to him, "And it was a monster?"

The youngling snarled at him, "Look, I don't exactly believe in 'em either but I _know_ what I saw!"

The mech barely twitched, "It's alright, I believe you."

He gave the stranger an incredulous look, "But no one believes in those old stories."

"There's a shred of truth in every myth," the mech explained, helping Blaster to his feet, "Now come with me. We'll contact Soundwave and confirm that Steeljaw is missing…what is your relation to our Commander if I might ask?"

Blaster scuffed his peds dejectedly, "I'm one of her apprentices…"

The Enforcer gave him an appraising look, "Then you must be Blaster."

He only gave a sigh in confirmation, allowing the mech to lead him up to the local Enforcer's headquarters. The Praxian took a pause at the door, kneeling down in front of the youngling once more.

"Steeljaw is very capable as I understand. You will see him again. And if he can't get himself out of this, I will find him myself."

Blaster looked unconvinced, but nodded just the same.

All he could do now was wait and hope that this mech was right.


	2. Chapter 2: Where Monsters Go Lurking

Frog: Sorry for the wait guys XP I'll be posting two chapters today, so hopefully that will make up for it.

And big thanks to Faecat for beta-reading this for me :D

Now let's finally get this story started!

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Time measurements to approximate Earth equivalent:

Klik: 1 minute

Breem: 6 minutes

Joor: 6 hours

Orn: 360 hours (2 weeks)

Iorn: 540 hours (3 weeks)

Cycle: 60 days (8.5 weeks). One Cycle is defined by two Iorns (light shifts) and one Orn (dark-shift). Could be compared to one Cybertronian day.

Para-Cycle: 12 cycles (2 years)

Vorn: 7 Para-Cycles (84 years)

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**Chapter 2: Where Monsters Go Lurking**

The natural cycle of Cybertron was mesmerizing if one took the time to admire it. It's slow, rhythmic pulses were what kept both the planet and all its inhabitants alive, with no need of any outside influence. The core of the planet would pump charged energon to the cities and residents of its surface, giving light and life to all. It was the power source of every tower, factory and glowing street sign. Then once the energon's charge had been depleted, it was absorbed back to the core, turning the bright cities dark again as the energon was recharged deep within Cybertron's core.

Most Cybertronians' lives were centered on the planet's schedule. One Cycle of Cybertron's natural pulse consisted of three shifts in which most inhabitants worked. Two Iorn shifts while the planet was bright with life, and one Orn shift while the planet was dark and resting. Generally, the latter of the mentioned shifts was considered more low-key, as most bots preferred to stay in the safety of their homes or in places of social gathering than tempt the dark streets.

This meant there was also a great deal less work to do during the Orn shift of the Cycle. Anything that was left running either relied on what little left-over energon there was, or if the proprietor's were wealthy enough, fuel-powered generators shipped in from other worlds. Most shops closed and manufacturing plants slowed their production to conserve energy.

A certain stigma surrounded anyone who took the Orn shift as a result. Lazy, opportunistic, and doesn't play well with others just to name a few. Springer didn't especially like these descriptors, but he could see traces of them in himself. And Moonracer. And definitely Kup.

Prowl, however, fit none of them.

Well…except for maybe playing nice with others, he wasn't much of a social mech, but one wouldn't think that would be enough to get someone as obnoxiously talented as him stuck in the Orn Shift. It had puzzled Springer since he had joined this shift to rid himself of some…distractions he had found trouble with in his prior Iorn duties.

Though the mech he was currently considering was mysteriously absent now. Typically the Praxian got here before everyone else and to make the start of Springer's shift even more bemusing, the newbie Jazz, was unnaturally early.

"How's it swingin' Springer?" The rather short mech greeted with a wave of his hand, though he didn't look up from the data scrolling by his desk console.

"Same as always," he called back, logging into his own station.

The hub of the Iacon Enforcer's Southwest Wing was one of the emptiest workplaces in the capital sector, even during the Iorn shifts. Their circular tower was small with a limited number of work stations, further limiting the maximum staff they could have at any one time. There was very little crime in this part of Iacon and with it meant there was little work for the local enforcers to deal with. In a way, it was nice…sort of a quiet workplace without too many distractions. Springer never thought he would like quiet, but he had come to despise certain sounds that were mercifully absent here.

"How are you?" Springer absently continued on with the usual greetings as he resumed work on a report he had neglected to file the last time he was here. "I've never seen you around this early."

"I got a feeling…"

"About?"

Jazz turned to him with a lop-sided grin. "That I should show up on time for once."

Springer quirked an optic ridge, leaning back in his chair. "Is that all?"

"Or maybe I'm all in your imagination," he continued cryptically, wiggling his fingers in a mystical gesture.

The green mech really should have known better, so he left it at that. It was nearly impossible for anyone to get a straight answer out of Jazz, though Prowl and Kup sure tried their hardest. According to their records, the mech had been working for minor Enforcer squads for a long time, yet the records to follow that train were pretty sparse. It had most of the team suspicious, but he was dedicated to the job and hadn't shown any signs of being involved in illicit activities…yet. He was a bit annoying, though, often nosing through other bots' business. It was usual behavior for a new detective who thought every oddity was a mystery in need of solving, but a little less usual from a mech who had supposedly been working with the Enforcer's long enough to have grown out of the phase. It was puzzling to be sure.

The Orn shift was just doomed to collect all the odd-balls in the end.

Springer returned to his filing as some muffled chatter could be heard making its way up the lift. Moments later, Moonracer and Kup arrived on the hub's floor, the former gushing vividly about something or other as the latter smiled and nodded in a very paternal sort of way.

"And he wrote me a poem this time!" She continued. "I brought it with me, would you like to read it?"

"That's fine, missy," their commander chuckled. "I've got the feeling it's meant for your optics only anyhow."

Springer felt a frown pull at his lip plates. "You're not talking about that whole 'secret admirer' business again, are you?"

"Not everyone who's romantically inclined is a creepy stalker, you know," Moonracer huffed right back, taking inventory of her equipment as she settled into her own station but took a pause when she noticed one corner of the room was strangely empty. "Where's Prowl?"

"Dunno," Jazz answered with disinterest.

"Maybe he finally transferred," Springer suggested, fully aware that he could only hope. Oh no, Prowl would have gone through _all_ the necessary protocols first and Kup would have complained about it the whole way if that were going on.

"Oh you guys," Moonracer scolded gently. "Has anyone tried his com.?"

"No," was the unanimous answer.

"Did it ever occur to you that he could be in trouble?" She allowed a bit more irritation in her voice.

"I doubt it," Springer sighed.

"You've got to learn to trust us with our own lives, Moonracer," Jazz added. "Prowl would call for back-up if he needed any help. He's just delayed and we can bug him about it once he gets here."

Moonracer wasn't listening, having already turned her attention to her com. Jazz and Springer just shared a mildly amused glance. The femme often took it upon herself to see to it that everyone on the team was safe and sound. She was always the first to put herself in harm's way if only to make sure no one else would. It was as endearing as it was frustrating, since she didn't seem to realize that no one wanted _her_ to get hurt either.

This sort of blindness to her own mortality further concerned Springer in particular as the femme had apparently attracted a secret admirer. She would periodically find little hand-made gifts outside her door or on the windowsill when she returned from her shift. They were cute little trinkets, even Prowl had admitted to that once or twice, but Springer was made wary by the fact that whoever left these gifts had offered no clue as to who they were or any attempt at contact beyond these small offerings of affection. Moonracer was convinced that Springer was just jaded to romance from some bad experiences of his own and the opinions of the others varied someplace in between with Jazz being all for it and Prowl being cautious, but not exactly finding threat in the secret admirer's gifts at present. Kup was just fickle about the whole thing. Some Orns he would scold the femme for getting lost in fantasy and other times he would downright encourage her behavior.

There were a few moments of silence before a frowning Moonracer addressed the room. "He's on his way. He wants us to try hailing Commander Soundwave."

Kup paused his Ornly inspection of the room. "That serious?"

"He said he'll explain when he gets here," the femme sighed, watching as her superior hurried to the main console and began typing away commands.

"Figures he would actually be up to something useful," Springer chuckled to himself.

"You're not jealous, are you?" Jazz smirked.

The green mech laughed more openly. "No. I'm just disappointed in myself for being surprised."

"Slaggin' protocol," Kup muttered from across the room.

Springer glanced back over his shoulder. "Need some help there, boss?"

"I've been doing this work since the—"

"Since the first golden age," Jazz grinned at the dirty look his superior sent him.

"Before they invented all these fancy buttons," Moonracer continued with delight.

"And our creator's weren't even sparked yet," Springer finished.

"You know the only thing we hear when you say that is that you're really old, right?" Jazz grinned, all too pleased with himself.

"Hot-rodding kids don't know respect anymore," Kup grumbled as his assorted underlings giggled in delight. They all sobered quickly, however, when the lift beeped and Prowl strode out, his doorwings twitching excitedly. An orange youngling followed more slowly, looking about their command hub with the utmost suspicion before daring to exit the lift.

"Who's this?" Moonracer queried as Prowl walked past her to the main console with Kup.

"Blaster," the youngling supplied.

Springer gave him an inviting smile. "And what brings you up here? You aren't in trouble, are you?"

Blaster returned him an impressive glower for one so young. "I don't have to answer to _you_."

Jazz peered over his desk to get a better look, smirking all the while. "Kiddy's got some sharp teeth under that cute exterior."

"Don't provoke him. He might as well outrank all of us," Prowl called over his shoulder. "He is one of Commander Soundwave's apprentices."

That certainly piqued the room's collective interest. Suddenly Blaster found himself the center of much more attention than he would have liked and quickly skirted to Prowl's side as they waited patiently for the call to go through.

"Couldn't have mentioned that earlier, could ya?" Kup muttered. "You know the boss prioritizes things. She'd want to know that!"

"My apologies," Prowl nodded, "but we weren't far."

A few more mutterings from Kup and finally the hail went through, allowing for Soundwave's visored and masked visage to appear on screen. Both Kup and Prowl offered a proper greeting before the elder mech set Blaster on a chair for better access to the screen and to explain the situation to his instructor for himself.

"You know what I don't get," Springer whispered quietly as Moonracer passed by his desk to get a better look. She paused to look at him, debating whether or not to ignore his musings, just this once.

He shared anyway. "Why do we have to hail her if she doesn't speak. _Ever_. Just send a file or something, it's faster."

The femme fought hard not to giggle and shook her helm. "She probably heard you."

"I'm sure she's heard worse," Springer responded lamely, clearly unrepentant.

Back at the console, Blaster was struggling with what exactly he should do. He didn't doubt that Steeljaw had already let Soundwave know he was in trouble, so what more could Blaster say? The femme hadn't exactly sent him a com. message asking if _he_ was okay and he was standing before her now, so that should be proof enough if she cared to doubt his safety.

After some careful consideration and a prompting grunt from the old mech standing to his right, he decided maybe this could be for the local Enforcers' benefit as opposed to Soundwave's.

"Steeljaw got stolen," he reported as calmly as he could manage. Inwardly, the fact still stung. It felt as though he'd let the cyber-cat down and he wasn't even sure why. The quiet murmurings elsewhere in the room ceased abruptly.

Soundwave gave a nod, indicating she already knew. Now came the part that maybe Steeljaw _wouldn't_ have told his master. The part Blaster was really dreading having to say out loud.

"It was a monster," he finished slowly, the words sounding all wrong no matter how he tried to put them together. Someone behind him made a strange sound, earning whoever it was looks from the old mech and his new acquaintance, Prowl.

Soundwave slowly tilted her helm forward, a movement that Blaster could either interpret as disapproval or understanding. He could never be sure, even with all the time he was forced to spend with her.

"Do you have any orders for us, Commander?" Prowl queried as Kup gave him a bored look that was much easier to read than any mannerism of Soundwave's.

There was a pause before a burst of data came through the console. Kup loaded it to a data pad and hummed in thought. "We can do that. Keep us informed if you don't mind. If this type of thing is happening in my sector, I think it fair I'm let in on the proceedings."

A small nod from Soundwave and the screen went black. Blaster groaned and the tense atmosphere of the room dissipated to mild unease.

"Well? What are our orders?" Moonracer tried not to sound _too_ eager.

Kup looked down at the data pad again. "We are to keep Blaster with us for the time being. Soundwave is in communique with her symbiote and they are in the information gathering stage for the time being. She will request our services should she need them."

"Great," Blaster grumped, plopping himself into the chair.

"Rough day, huh?" Moonracer offered him a kind smile.

The youngling's bitter expression faltered. "Yeah…"

"Well you just make yourself at home then," Kup patted him lightly on the helm. "I'm sure you could use a break from all that fast-paced mess of bots at Iacon Central Command."

The youngling shifted his weight a little before giving a nod. "So long as Steeljaw is okay…"

Kup nodded in agreement. "I'm sure if he was in any danger, Soundwave would be in a much greater rush to find him. She's taking this slowly because she knows she has the luxury of time on her side. Now how about I show you around."

As Kup led the weary youngling to some of the other offices, Prowl returned to his desk, looking perhaps the slightest bit disappointed as he set to logging into his station. He frowned as he realized that his desk was not entirely in the state he thought it would have been left from the last shift, but perhaps there was just a personnel change during the Iorns and someone new had been using this desk lately.

"Wanted to go monster hunting, Prowly?"

The Praxian's wings twitched in agitation as he turned his helm just enough to see Jazz looming over his shoulder watching his screen with general disinterest. He returned his focus to his station with a warning growl that the usually nosy mech was smart enough to heed.

Jazz crossed his arms smugly. "You don't really believe in those old stories, do you Prowl? I mean, you seem too smart for that crazy stuff."

"As I was saying to Blaster earlier," Prowl answered coolly, "in every myth you can find at least a shred of truth. These stories don't come from nothing. Tales of so-called 'monsters' have been around since the ancient days of Cybertron and, over time, many have been proven true or false within a shadow of a doubt. This is just another mystery that no one has given enough time to solve."

Jazz openly guffawed at that. A sharp bark of laughter that alarmed the other Enforcers. "So you _do_ believe in monsters then. Oh that's just _sad_."

Moonracer hesitantly rose to her teammate's aid. "What makes you so sure, Jazz? I mean, I don't know whether or not I believe in them, but Prowl _does_ have a point. The stories have to come from somewhere."

Jazz shook his helm, "Simple science. Red optics are what _really_ gives it away as fake. A regular bot can't see in red, the optics don't produce enough light and filter out too many colors to make them practical. I may not know where the stories started, but I have seen red optic coverings in a few novelty shops. Young bots love to play pranks you know. Maybe you should start with the local younglings."

"Where did you learn that?" Springer, previously just not caring to be involved, was suddenly feeling suspicious again.

Jazz offered a shrug. "I went through that phase already. Learned what I needed to. Decided monsters don't exist."

"For Steeljaw's sake, I hope you're right," Prowl muttered absently.

Jazz watched him work a moment longer before shaking his head in a mix of amusement and maybe pity. "There aren't monsters on Cybertron," Jazz repeated firmly, dropping into his own seat like he didn't have a care in the world. "At least not the type you're looking for."

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Orders remained. Use aggression only if threatened. You are not in danger. Stay put and observe.

Steeljaw was good at following orders. Orders were what kept him alive and gave him purpose. Master would only give orders meant for his best interests and Master was very wise. Steeljaw could not and would not try to find an existence apart from Master.

However, Steeljaw wasn't a full-on drone either. He had some sentience in him. At least as much as the quadruped organic creatures on which his frame was based, if not more, and with such things as sentience came other things like self-preservation.

Self-preservation declared he was in danger. 'Captor' was larger than he was, stronger than he was, and had much more armor than any mech the cyber-cat had witnessed previously. He was unsure if he could even bite through slabs of metal that thick.

Still orders stated he was not in danger and rarely did orders run at odds with self-preservation. Steeljaw was confused by this and communicated this dilemma to Master promptly and repeatedly. Master, in turn, continued to reaffirm her orders. Steeljaw followed these orders and would continue to follow these orders despite increasing alarms in his survival instincts.

He was no longer squirming in Captor's grip, though tense and uncomfortable. They had gone under the surface levels of Cybertron some time ago. It was dark, but Steeljaw knew where they were. Few places on the planet were unexplored; though rarely traversed, they had still been mapped at one point. Some logic protocol in his programming dictated that no sane bot should have any reason to be down this far.

Steeljaw deduced Captor's processor was therefore unsound. He relayed this observation to Master.

Master reaffirmed her orders.

Steeljaw lowered his ears in disappointment.

"Aww, is my kitty sad?"

He would have liked to utter a growl of warning if only growls were not a form of aggression. He would follow orders and instead ignore Captor's annoying voice.

"Homesick already?" The mech continued conversationally, turning down a path that was just barely wide enough to fit him. "You're in for some Pit then, I'm afraid. Better get over the home-sickness quick!"

His maps were getting older and less detailed. Steeljaw's self-preservation was at the end of its rope, yet somehow still tied securely to Master's orders. They came to a large, circular door made from technology far more recent than anything surrounding and, once on the other side all known data disappeared. Steeljaw was off the map and it was making him twitchy.

He sent one last update to Master.

The message never went through. All communication was blocked as the armored door ground shut.

No communication meant Master could not relay new orders. No new orders would typically mean Steeljaw must follow the last order given, but Steeljaw was certain that the last order given had not taken into account that there may be a lapse in their ability to communicate.

Self-preservation took over. He was in danger and could not contact his Master. He must escape and re-establish communication. So he whirled on Captor and bit the hand that held him as hard as he could. The mech cursed and loosened his grip just enough for Steeljaw to squeeze away and make a run for it.

And run he did, not quite able to outpace Captor's wide strides, but it was just enough for him to duck into an open utility pipeline.

Still no maps. Still no communication with Master. Captor seemed to be calling for reinforcements, so Steeljaw scurried away through the pipeline, all scans on high sensitivity for other energy signatures. There were many more bots down here than he would have expected so far down. Clearly more malfunctioning mechs like Captor, if they were down this deep. What was worse, the pipeline seemed to be leading him towards a crowd of them.

He emerged behind them, their raucous laughter, loud jeers, and high vantage points making it easy for the cyber-cat to stalk the room's perimeter and find a new hiding place within a broken drainage grate. Feeling quite relieved that he was safe for the time being, Steeljaw settled to the side of a puddle of questionable fluids to wait until either the mechs above settled down, he thought of a better idea, or Master hopefully was able to re-establish communication.

There was a heavy thud and cheers from above. A test of might, Steeljaw surmised, having witnessed sporting brawls that sounded quite similar.

"All hail Megatron!" A mech shouted over the uproar. The crowd howled in agreement.


	3. Chapter 3: Bright Lights, Harsh Shadows

Frog: Let's see what the Autobot commanders are up to, shall we? ;) LOTS of exposition in this chapter, I hope you don't mind, I just have a lot of stuff I need to explain so that the rest of the story will make sense. Though perhaps to some extent this chapter will just leave you with a whole lot more questions XD I promise to answer all of them eventually, cross my heart.

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Time measurements to approximate Earth equivalent:

Klik: 1 minute

Breem: 6 minutes

Joor: 6 hours

Orn: 360 hours (2 weeks)

Iorn: 540 hours (3 weeks)

Cycle: 60 days (8.5 weeks). One Cycle is defined by two Iorns (light shifts) and one Orn (dark-shift). Could be compared to one Cybertronian day.

Para-Cycle: 12 cycles (2 years)

Vorn: 7 Para-Cycles (84 years)

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**Chapter 3: Bright Lights and Harsh Shadows**

Iacon Central Command; a massive complex of spiraling towers and broad buildings. The hub of Cybertronian government, economics, ingenuity, spirituality, and security. More bots lived and worked within its confines than some small provinces. Physically, it was a city unto itself, complete with small shops and apartments. Those that worked here need never leave, though most did when they had the chance.

Metroplex, many of the populace had come to call it, as Iacon Central Command was something of a mouthful, was a place of ambition and bright ideas. Of science and secrets. Of age old tradition and new-fangled ideals.

Time passed differently here. The highest officials worked continuously, having very little to any concept of shifts or the passing Cycles. The entire complex ran on generator power, even during the brighter Iorn shifts, so the streets were always lit and the bots that traversed them always busy. It was a city that knew nothing of rest.

It was the job of but a singular bot to make sure Metroplex remained safe.

Red Alert was a mech above reproach, or at least he felt he should be. He answered directly to the High Council and while he may have worked closely with the Autobot Protection Force, this was his jurisdiction and not even the Prime would dare to cross him. Relatively young and considered very talented, especially for an apprenticed mech that lost his teacher at a young age, Red Alert took his job very, _very_ seriously. He was something of a joke in Metroplex for that last bit, but even more so was he a force to be reckoned with when his security protocols were breached.

So when aforementioned mech stormed into the Prime's office unannounced, Optimus Prime was quick to give him his full attention. "Red Alert?"

He said nothing at first, his tense expression relaying that he was trying to find words to his current frustrations. Soundwave, commander of the Enforcer's wing of the Autobot Protection Force, slipped in at this point, as stoic and silent as ever, watching with what had always seemed to Optimus to be an eternal well of patience as the Security Director regained his bearings.

"They're at it again!" Red Alert finally snapped. Optimus required no further clarification and dropped his helm in exasperation.

"What did they do this time?"

The red and white mech cast a glance at the silent femme next to him. "What do you think? They got out, raised some Pit, and to top it all off Steeljaw has been captured."

Soundwave gave a silent nod of confirmation, as a frown past through the Prime's optics. He had worked with the blue femme for a very long time, and though he had never once heard her speak, he had picked up more than a few things about the ways she _did_ choose to communicate. Body language, however slight, was how Soundwave chose to project what she dared not even write in a report. Something about her stance told him more than words ever did. It was a bizarre sort of understanding they shared that he had never fully understood, but was grateful for nonetheless.

"I assume that is not your only concern," Optimus shifted his gaze back to the Security Director. "The Decepticons…well _one_ of the Decepticons has gone around snatching cyber-cats before. Retrieving Steeljaw from them should not give us much trouble."

"Blaster was a witness to the abduction."

Optimus nodded slowly. "So he will have to be educated on the matter I suppose. It's unfortunate that he is so young."

"Most certainly," but the red and white mech still looked troubled, "However, these events have brought another issue to light."

The Prime wasn't sure he wanted to know. "Go on…"

Red Alert looked to Soundwave again, who to the average mech looked just as drone-like as ever, but to those who really knew her, she was radiating displeasure as the Security Director announced the source of her ire. "Jazz has resurfaced."

There was a thoughtful pause. "I see," Optimus steepled his hands. "Shall I give the word to bring him in for questioning?"

Both mechs turned simultaneously to Soundwave once again and she promptly indicated a firm 'no' with a slight shake of her helm. Red Alert released a heavy sigh, crossing his arms as he proceeded to pace what little floor there was in the Prime's humble office.

"And why is that?" He asked lowly, casting a glare at the royal blue femme.

Optimus gave a thoughtful hum. "Perhaps the two incidences are related?"

"Unlikely. As you said, this particular Decepticon has been committing similar felonies for _entertainment_ for vorns now."

"Then why would Jazz show up at all?"

"He's probably after something, if we are to assume from his prior patterns," Red Alert whirled quickly to face the Prime. "Which is fine in and of itself, the problem therein is that bots tend to go missing when he's around."

"Do you have a proposition?"

"We keep tabs on him, see if we can figure out what he's after without making a scene," Red Alert surmised, gesturing expressively as he again resumed pacing. "Soundwave, I think it's safe to assume that's why you ordered your ward to remain with Kup's team until further notice?"

Soundwave nodded in approval as the Security Director continued.

"Excellent. We can keep Blaster there under the guise of work-study. Youngling's restless enough as it is. I welcome a Cycle or so of not having him around to encourage those infernal twins."

"I will arrange for one of my _informed_ agents to visit at the beginning of every shift," Optimus confirmed.

"Jazz will know what we're up to, no doubt."

"No doubt," the Prime agreed. "We will choose to hope for the time being that such knowledge will keep him in line. Unpredictable though he is, we've managed to reason with him before."

"Good," Red Alert gave a sharp nod. "Keep me updated, and let me know the instant he appears to be up to anything shady. I may not be involved with the Autobots, but you know there will eventually be grave consequences if we can't keep Jazz under control."

"Yes. Thank you Red Alert."

The Security Director promptly turned from the room and strode back down the hall. Optimus turned his attention back to Soundwave, concern haunting his optics as he studied her posture. "If you are worried for Blaster—"

She raised a hand to stop him and as usual, he understood without really needing to be told. There was nothing that could be done for her Apprentice at this point. He had already seen too much for them to pass the incident off as something else. He would have to be told the truth and if there was one thing Optimus Prime loathed it was revealing the transgressions of past Primes.

Shaking his helm of that thought, Optimus gave a nod of dismissal and Soundwave left just as quietly as she had come in. He remained motionless at his desk awhile longer before finally giving in and activating his com.

::Bumblebee, your presence is required in my office::

::Yes sir!::

Came the expected exuberant reply. Optimus returned to the forms on his desk as he waited for the yellow mech to arrive.

Personally, the Autobot Commander far preferred the Cycles prior to his becoming Prime. Every time he had to call a bot to his office, especially one as enthusiastic as Bumblebee, it reminded him of what it was like to actually be out working in the field. What it felt like to see the good he was doing with his own optics as opposed to reading endlessly about it in reports as those duties were delegated to mechs of lesser status.

He, like most every Prime before him going back almost more vorns than records could account for, had been apprenticed by the Prime before. Chosen as a youngling by the Matrix of Leadership for bearing a character that it alone could see and then was raised and educated in Metroplex ever since. It was what he had been trained for since he was just a youngling and, as was expected of all apprenticed mechs, he fit the position like a glove.

The Enforcers were the largest portion under his command. Theirs was a task of keeping the peace on the civilian level. They imposed the laws passed by the High Council and handled manners of civil disturbance. Investigative work was also common among their ranks and honestly Optimus had never been good at that angle. He much preferred mysteries stay out in the open…if only it were that simple. No, he was quite keen to just let Soundwave handle that part of the job.

The Sentrium had the unique honor of being a paradox unto itself by being both the smallest and the largest Autobot branch of the three. This was Cybertron's militia, a civilian army should the need to defend their planet ever arise. War was a downright filthy word on the metal planet and most inhabitants believed themselves to be quite indestructible as it was. What did they have to fear in the universe? Not many civilizations had technology as advanced as theirs and organic life was inherently fragile while their metal frames were adaptable and strong. Optimus wholly disagreed with this sense of security, as did most Primes before him, but the populace would have none of it and so no official army existed, only a long list of names of bots that would enlist should the need ever arise. So as they were not in wartime, the Sentrium only had a small handful of officers with far too much free time on their hands. Ironhide in particular, as commander of the Sentrium, could use a hobby that didn't involve weaponry.

Last was secretly Optimus' favorite position, the Protectoriate. These were the first responders, offering a wide variety of skills and backgrounds that served Cybertron when emergencies came up. Equipped for fires, viral breakouts, and the occasional catastrophic system melt-down, the Protectoriate was easily the most glamorous department an Autobot could be a part of and, quite honestly, it required a special talent to pass inspection. If Ratchet had his way, almost no one would be worthy to join (not enough spark, or too squeamish and all that), but he had retired a few vorns back and the position now fell on Inferno's ever-ready shoulders.

Though…Ratchet wasn't exactly down for the count just because he had retired from the position. The High Council had been pretty quick to snatch him up as Metroplex's Chief Medical Officer. The mech had been around since Optimus first came to the capital sector, and it was honestly reassuring to know the grouchy old medic was still around. Even if their respective duties did not often have them crossing paths.

Optimus flicked his optics down at the data pad dumbly, realizing that in his straying thoughts he had only been holding the thing and not actually looking at it. If he had at least looked at it, his optics would subconsciously commit the information to his short term memory. Great, now he would have to devote some conscious effort.

Perhaps it was time for him to take a shift off. He had been working for too many Cycles straight without a proper break. He would have to see to it after Bumblebee arrived.

Speaking of which…

"Bumblebee reporting, sir," the intercom outside his door buzzed.

"Yes, come in," he pushed what he was sure was a wholly uninteresting data pad aside to give the scout his attention. The yellow mini-bot worked for the Protectoriate, his compact frame making him perfect for investigating unstable structures before larger mechs got in and got themselves hurt in a miscalculation of structure solidity. Pressure damage did little to his armor, so he could survive being buried under a collapsed piece of machinery with little fear so long as he didn't try to move. Most importantly, he always had a chipper grin that just infected everyone around him.

"This job is going to be a little different than what you're used to," Optimus began thoughtfully as Bumblebee came to stand on the other side of his desk, albeit barely able to see over the top, "and truthfully, you may be too qualified, but at present I cannot risk tasking any of my Enforcers to the job."

"Why is that sir?" Bumblebee put in curiously.

"Time constraints. I'm not sure how long this will need to go on. It may be until the end of the Cycle, or it may be for several Cycles in a row. The nature of this assignment is still unclear."

The mini-bot tilted his helm to side. "And what assignment is that?"

Optimus studied the mech before him briefly. Sometimes it was so hard to believe what all he knew.

"I shall try to be brief…"

"With you sir, that tends to be very difficult," Bumblebee commented with a playful grin. The Prime allowed some amusement to glint his optics, but did not give into the urge to chuckle.

"The Decepticons are at it again."

The yellow mech promptly sobered himself. "You don't mean Vortex, do you?"

Optimus gave a long-suffering sigh. "It would appear to be him, yes. I don't know any _others_ that are so devoted to cyber-cat snatching," he shook his helm and with it, the annoyance in his voice. "Rest assured your assignment deals nothing with him."

Bumblebee uttered a soft sigh of relief. "So what's wrong, then?"

"Evidently, Steeljaw was captured," he watched as the young mech's jaw slackened, "and Blaster was witness to the…assault for lack of a more appropriate term. He is young, perhaps too young to realize the weight of what he's discovered."

"That…is a problem," Bumblebee muttered, crossing his arms in thought.

The Autobot leader allowed him to properly absorb that information before he continued. "The main reason I am giving you this assignment is because Blaster trusts you," the Prime explained with earnest. "Due to some parallel circumstances, we are having him stay with the Enforcers in the local area the altercation took place."

"Go on."

"Does the designation Jazz have a place in your memory banks?"

"Maybe vaguely," he rubbed his helm awkwardly. "I'm not as young as I look, you know. It was still awhile ago when _that_ whole mess went down. But…yeah, I think I remember hearing a Jazz somewhere in there…"

"All you need to know at present is that we need to keep tabs on him. Be on the look-out for anything suspicious in any part of the command hub."

"Who is he?"

Optimus paused. "He is a highly specialized agent, one that does not always follow the rules, but ultimately he's on our side."

Bumblebee's frown deepened. "A lot of bots fit into that category, don't they…"

"Indeed…"

"So check in on Blaster, make sure he's okay, and also keep an optic on this Jazz character, right?"

"Precisely," the Prime nodded. "To avoid too much suspicion, you are not to stay there constantly. Return to your post by the end of the Orn, and then check on them again once your shift is over. We will decide what to do from there."

"Yes sir. I'll be on my way then."

"Very good. And Bumblebee?"

"Hm?"

"Blaster…doesn't know about the Decepticons yet. I intend to tell him once we retrieve Steeljaw, but for now..."

"Keep it a secret?"

Optimus nodded, feeling a twinge of bitterness in his spark at the prospect. "Yes, that will be a great help."

"I'll do that sir. Don't worry."

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"Why does Blaster get to have all the fun? Why can't we ever go outside Metroplex? Why can't I have a cyber-cat too? Why—"

Ratchet was very tempted to just shut off his audios. It didn't matter how often he told Sideswipe 'No', the youngling would still come up with new ways to word his questions, or new queries entirely until he was finally distracted. Unfortunately, it was generally frowned upon to tune out one's own creations, and thus Ratchet had no choice but to listen and hope that the red youngling would give up soon.

As a medic, Ratchet was infamous for his creative means of always getting his way as well as his sharp (often painful) wit. As former leader of the Protectoriate, he had been known throughout Cybertron for his steely calm even in the face of Cybertron's most horrific disasters, as well as his high standards for anyone that wished to answer to him.

As a creator of a rare set of twins…well no one really had a comment about that. If they felt negatively, they knew better than to say anything. After all, Ratchet had a lot to deal with tending to aged council members and idiots who thought of new and inventive ways of getting themselves hurt in an otherwise very peaceful sector. No one could blame him for being too busy to attentively raise the younglings.

No one but himself, that is.

"Shut up 'Sides!" Sunstreaker, the yellow half of Ratchet's frequent processor aches, snapped irritably at his twin.

"But it's not _faaaaiiiirrr_…." Sideswipe whined back. Ratchet sighed at last, giving the younglings a look over his shoulder as he arranged his tools for an upcoming procedure.

"Blaster is a whole five vorns older than you and a responsible apprentice. Perhaps if you two could show you were responsible enough, I might have the inclination to consider letting you visit Iacon."

"By ourselves?" Sideswipe asked, a little too excitedly.

"Never without a chaperone, no."

"Ugghhh…" the youngling rolled onto his back so that he could give the ceiling a clear vision of his best dejected face.

"I don't see how him being an apprentice makes 'im so special," Sunstreaker put in sullenly after a klik of silence.

"He receives special training."

Sideswipe hopped back to his feet and wandered up to his creator's side, trying to see what the white mech was doing even though he wasn't really interested. "Why don't we get special training, Ratchet?"

The medic paused momentarily. "What type of training would you want?"

Sideswipe's optics brightened and he looked to Sunstreaker hopefully. "Would we be apprentices?"

Ratchet allowed a small grin in amusement. "You wouldn't really want that, would you?"

"Yeah 'Sides. You know how unhappy Blaster is about being an apprentice," Sunstreaker crossed his arms huffily.

"Rewind doesn't mind. Rumble and Frenzy don't either."

"Rumble and Frenzy are sparklings. They don't know any better," the yellow youngling rolled his optics, "and Rewind is weird…hey Ratchet, why _does_ Soundwave have so many apprentices?"

"Not my concern."

"Why not?" Came Sideswipe's favorite question of all time.

"Blaster says it's 'cause none of them are good enough to do everything she does, so she has to split it up," Sunstreaker reasoned. Sideswipe pondered this before half-shrugging.

"You can't listen to everything Blaster says," Ratchet reminded them both with a sigh.

"I thought he was _responsible_."

Ratchet turned to give Sunstreaker a tempered glare. "By responsible I meant he can handle himself. He still has much to learn and he does not leave Metroplex alone, much the same as you wouldn't."

"But now Steeljaw's gone," the red twin piped up.

Ratchet froze more fully at that. "And where did you hear that, youngling?" He struggled to not make the question sound like a demand. He had only been informed of the situation himself about a joor ago, as Optimus often told him when _these_ types of situations presented themselves. In some ways it was an honor to be the Prime's confidant, in others, he really wished he didn't know.

"Rewind told us when we went to go find Blaster," Sideswipe explained casually. "He also said that cyber-cats require only half the charge that us younglings do! Did you know that, Ratchet? That's why we should have a cyber-cat too! They don't use that much energy and it could help you around the med-bay!"

"Cyber-cats are not pets, Sideswipe, they are tools."

"That's not nice, Ratchet! Steeljaw has feelings too!"

"Fine, they're tools with _feelings_."

Sideswipe frowned up at him with a huff and meandered back to where he and his brother were supposed to be studying, but as usual had been using conversation as a means of slacking off. Ratchet had given up trying to get them to focus a long time ago, it was their own loss if they didn't finish, and he just didn't have the time to constantly redirect them. Besides, when they got bored with trying to distract themselves, they did get some work done.

Education was something of an odd phenomenon on their planet. All necessary information could be downloaded, but just because a bot knew something didn't mean they understood it. Therefore, education centered mostly on developing comprehension. There was no formal method of schooling beyond apprenticeship. A creator would simply provide their youngling with information that they deemed important and assist in developing understanding when necessary. Beyond that, most non-apprenticed Cybertronians were self-taught on into adulthood. There were few standards for what a bot must know and, given their long life spans, education could be taken at whatever pace an individual wished to learn.

"This is boring," Sunstreaker complained after a few kliks of blessed quiet during which Ratchet could finish his preparations. "Why do we need to understand what energon does?"

"It's important that you understand how bots function properly," was the coolly spoken answer before the medic paused/ "_Do you_ understand it?"

Sunstreaker flicked his optics down to his data pad a few times. "Umm, yes?"

"Ooh! Ooh! I know!" Sideswipe chirped, bouncing on the floor. "Energon is a super awesome container for energy!"

"Indeed," Ratchet confirmed, "but it is also a conductor of energy. Our frames are powered by our sparks, but our sparks need to be recharged to maintain full function."

"So energon!" The red twin cheered brightly.

"The energon acts as a battery, providing a constant supply of energy for a spark to distribute."

"And when it runs out you have to get more energon or you'llll wiiind yuuurrssseeellllfff dooooowwwnnn toooooo staaaaaaaaaaasssssssiiiiiiii sssssssss," Sideswipe droned, putting on quite a show of a mech who was slowly shutting down, ending with a spectacularly dramatic collapse to the floor. Sunstreaker was unimpressed by his theatrics and snorted.

"Do you understand now?" Ratchet asked lightly, looking up as the med-bay doors opened to allow his appointed patient in.

"I guess…" the yellow youngling muttered, already collecting his belongings and giving his still motionless brother a good kick to the back of the helm.

Sideswipe sat up immediately with a pout. "Heey!"

"Out of the med-bay, you two," Ratchet waved them off. "I've got work to do."

"Yes Ratchet," they answered on impulse, neither too keen on having to wander bored through Metroplex with nothing to do but dreadful 'learning'.

"And younglings?"

Sideswipe paused to look back at their creator, Sunstreaker did not.

"Steer clear of the labs on Level 5. I know you like to visit Wheeljack, but they're running tests for the Orn and they don't need you two getting in the way."

"Aww, but then where are we s'posed to go?"

Ratchet considered their options and sighed. "Go see what Ironhide's up to."

The twins perked up at that idea and scurried from the room with renewed excitement. Ratchet shook his helm, partly in exasperation, partly in amusement as he turned to his patient. She smiled cheekily at him in turn.

"I don't see why everyone's always complaining about those two, they seem delightful enough to me."

"You would think that, wouldn't you," he answered back dully. "You say your shoulder strut has been giving you trouble?"

The femme settled herself casually on the med-bay table, shrugging with her one good shoulder. "Must of bumped it, it's almost unusable."

Ratchet quirked and optic ridge before beginning his scans. "With you, Chromia, I'm not entirely sure what a 'bump' entails."

The blue femme smirked at him. "Well a nudge is a fist to the faceplates, if that gives you any idea."

"And you wonder why your brother was put in charge of Sentrium and not you?"

"I used to," Chromia mused, "then I discovered it's because Ironhide's a big softy."

"Oh I'm sure that's it."

"Well you did just send your creations off to him. Goodness knows you'd never make the mistake of sending them to me."

"There is something to be said for restraint, yes."

She huffed and moved to cross her arms, only to have the injured one shoved back into a proper position for Ratchet to begin repairs. "Restraint is overrated."

"In some circles, I'm sure it is," the medic nearly growled as he began digging through the mess of wires in the femme's shoulder, "but not here."

Chromia sighed dramatically, but other than that remained silent as she let the CMO do his work. Ratchet cursed after a moment, pulling out a different tool. "It's a mess in there! How can your armor show no signs of damage?! It looks like you got ground between a shuttle's ankle gears!"

"Met a nice detailist, patched the outside right up!" She swung her legs casually over the edge of the table. "His designation is Tracks if you're interested. Might be able to help with all those nasty chips in your chevron."

Ratchet jerked his helm away before she could pinch said addition to his helm and gave her a glare. "I don't have time to be concerned with such pittance."

"Is that even a word?"

He jabbed the tool into her shoulder with more force than was certainly necessary, causing her to hiss softly in discomfort before she once again regained feeling all up and down her arm. "Nice work, doc…"

He replaced her shoulder armor, still scowling. "Do me a favor, would you?"

"Depends on what kind of favor you're looking for," she gave him an expectant look as she rolled the newly repaired shoulder experimentally.

"Be a good example to them."

"Who?"

"You know very well who," he nodded toward her shoulder. "Your mate is counting on you, whether you realize it or not."

"I'm not sure he cares as much as you'd like to think he does," Chromia half-smirked, though her tone remained serious.

Ratchet turned to cleaning up his tools with a sigh. "Perhaps not. But sooner rather than later, he will have to…I suggest you prepare yourself now."

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Frog: Questions/comments/reviews in general are all appreciated :D Thanks for reading, and hopefully the next chapter won't be too long in coming ;)


	4. Chapter 4: The Truth

Frog: School...It exists. Luckily for you guys I have essentially no social life, so I still have hours to allocate to writing fanfiction 'bout robots :D  
And a big "THANK YOU" to Faecat for beta reading for me and to those of you reviewed and added this story to their watch-lists :D

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Time measurements to approximate Earth equivalent:

Klik: 1 minute

Breem: 6 minutes

Joor: 6 hours

Orn: 360 hours (2 weeks)

Iorn: 540 hours (3 weeks)

Cycle: 60 days (8.5 weeks). One Cycle is defined by two Iorns (light shifts) and one Orn (dark-shift). Could be compared to one Cybertronian day.

Para-Cycle: 12 cycles (2 years)

Vorn: 7 Para-Cycles (84 years)

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**Chapter 4: Truths**

Blaster had never really seen anything like this before. Metroplex was always abuzz with activity, as was the majority of Iacon, but the little Enforcer's station here seemed to be almost in stasis by comparison. The bots that worked here were all so casual and took to their work at whatever pace suited them best…mostly slacking as far as the youngling was concerned. It felt as though he had been dropped in the middle of a room where everything moved in slow motion.

"Is something the matter, youngling?"

Well, except for the Praxian maybe.

Blaster shifted his dazed optics to the mech sitting next to him. He had chosen to sit with the black and white mech out of familiarity and the faintest hope that maybe Prowl could do something for Steeljaw that it seemed nobody else was willing to do. A long-shot, to be certain, but some hope was better than none.

"No, I just," he looked about the room again with a frown. "It's really quiet here. Is it always like this?"

Prowl nodded, nearly sighing as he did so. "Most Orns, yes. This part of Iacon is relatively secure; many families have settled in this area and there are fewer places for trouble to congeal itself."

"It's kind of weird."

A chuckle sounded from Jazz's desk across from them. "You should see the Enforcer wings in Kaon. Now _those_ are weird."

"You're from Kaon? You don't really look like it," Blaster mused, scowling.

The mech's visor flashed as he gave the youngling an easy grin. "Didn't boss Soundwave ever teach you not to judge by appearances?"

"Kaon's main export is construction materials, most bots from that area aren't so…_short__…_well unless they're minibots I guess," Blaster explained critically. He was becoming rather annoyed at how the mech simply refused to stop smiling. "What did you creators do?"

Jazz crossed his arms. "Now just a klick, kiddo. I never said I was from Kaon, I only implied that I've worked there."

The youngling sat back in his chair. "Fair enough…"

There were a few klicks of this foreign thing called silence before Blaster couldn't take it anymore. It just didn't sit well with him.

"Hey Prowl?"

"Yes?"

"I've been wondering…why do _you_ believe in the…monsters?"

The mech said nothing at first, instead bringing up some files on his work-station before proceeding with an explanation. "I believe that all legends are born of some truth. I am not the only one either. What leads me most to consider in these so-called 'monsters' to be more than just fiction are those that have come before me."

He opened the files on the screen, displaying an array of reports. Given his training, Blaster quickly identified them as notices and official records regarding bots that had gone missing. Some were several vorns old. The youngling glanced at Prowl from the corner of his optics as the mech continued to explain.

"My first assignment had been to investigate the disappearance of my own superior officer, the mech that first introduced me to the idea. Trailbreaker devoted much of his life to discovering the truth to these stories and, in the end, I believe he found it."

"What happened to him, then?"

A file of the aforementioned mech was brought to the front of the screen. "As I said, he disappeared never to be heard from again. Despite all my best efforts, I've yet to find so much as a shred of evidence," Prowl sighed wearily. "I must admit, I became obsessed over it for a time. It didn't take long before I discovered that Trailbreaker's was not the first such incidence of a bot interested in monsters to go missing. From a glitched admitted mech named Wreck-Gar that escaped from his asylum confines to the noblefemme Mirage, to Hook, an aspiring Iaconian scientist. The only thing any of these disappearances had in common were the victim's interest in finding the truth."

"Or, you know, it could just be coincidence," Jazz commented dully.

Prowl glared at him. "Perhaps, but for the majority of these cases, there are no other reasonable explanations. The victims simply vanished, no one knows to where or why."

The visored mech shrugged nonchalantly. "_I_ think this is too important to you."

Blaster looked between the two adults with a confused scowl. "What about me? I saw one and I'm still here."

"I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for it, kiddo, and we'll figure it out."

"And what if we go missing too?"

Jazz gave a very good impression of a mech rolling his optics. "See what you've done now, Prowl? You're scaring the youngling!"

"We won't go missing, Blaster. I will take great care to the end so that doesn't happen."

"All the same," Kup's voice interrupted as he materialized to place a hand on the youngling's shoulder, "I think it would be better if you kept your conspiracy theories to yourself for now."

A weary sigh, "Yes sir. I apologize."

Blaster looked on as the Praxian methodically removed the files from the screen, batting away his own curiosity to see exactly who all these mechs and femmes had been as he wondered if Prowl could be right. Had these bots been kidnapped just like Steeljaw had been? Or had they paid more dearly for snooping? Soundwave had given both of her older apprentices several information downloads about safe detective work, maybe this was a reason why.

Then again, Soundwave probably didn't believe in monsters. Knowing her, she had probably figured it out a long time ago and just didn't deem it necessary to anyone's lives or well-being to share it. She was pretty selfish with information, at least in Blaster's optics. She had her apprentices learn the same things over and over again and never really seemed pleased with what work they _had_ done.

Thoughts of his teacher brought a frown to his small face, which of course, the adults took notice of.

"Whatcha thinking about there, kiddo?" Jazz asked, half distracted by whatever he was doing at his console. Given Blaster's current impression of the mech, he expected Jazz was playing some kind of game rather than working.

"Just stuff," he kicked his peds distracted over the edge of his chair.

"Well obviously not fun stuff," Moonracer mused as she wandered over. "I'm going out on a patrol in a few klicks, would you like to join me? It'll get you out of this tired old place."

Before he could respond, there was a ping for entry on the main console. Kup grumbled as he looked it over before his optics brightened in mild surprise and he allowed the bot passage. "What is with all the guests this shift?"

A klick later the lift doors opened and a bright yellow mini-bot stepped onto their floor. "I'm looking for a youngling—"

"Bumblebee!" Blaster chirped, launching off his chair and hurrying to the mech's side with a grin.

"Hey Blaster," Bumblebee was almost, not quite, twice the younger's height, but even still he crouched down so they were at optic level. "Are you doing here, buddy?"

"I'm okay, I guess," his smile faltered marginally, though he was still genuinely glad to see a familiar face. "Ah…I guess you heard what happened."

Bumblebee straightened, drawing his lip plates into a thin line. "Yeah, Optimus sent me here to check in on you."

"Wait…so you aren't here to take me home?"

The mini-bot winced and shook his helm. "As I understand, Soundwave's been wanting you to get some work experience, and since you're already here, now's as good a time as any."

"But what about Steeljaw?" The youngling huffed, though his expression betrayed his worry.

"I'm sure Steeljaw's fine," Bumblebee assured with a gentle smile. "That cyber-cat is tougher than a lot of Autobots I know and twice as quick."

Blaster scuffed his ped with a scowl. "You didn't see what took him…"

The yellow mech looked like there was something he wanted to say, but in the end only sighed. "I can't stay here for too long, I have a shift of my own to get to in a bit, but I'll be back as soon as I'm done and when I do, I'll get all the details from Soundwave on how her investigation is going. How does that sound?"

"It won't work. Soundwave doesn't think it's important for me to know…"

"Aw, don't be like that. She knows you're worried about Steeljaw, I'm sure she'll let you know."

Blaster was still unconvinced, so Bumblebee decided to try a different angle. "Say, how about you introduce me to these guys? I haven't been in this part of Iacon before."

Blaster sighed reluctantly and swiveled to face the room, "Kup's in charge, Moonracer and Springer are first responders, Prowl's the main detective, and Jazz does nothing."

"Oh that's cold," Jazz cackled, "but guilty as charged!"

Kup sighed in exasperation. "_Actually_, he's our best patrol unit."

"Essentially, I still do nothing," Jazz grinned at him.

"It is nice to meet all of you," Bumblebee nodded pleasantly to the room. "I'm Bumblebee if anyone didn't catch that. From the Protectoriate."

"Ah, good for you," Springer nodded his approval. "They don't have too many mini-bots, right?"

"The same could be said for all the Autobot wings," Bumblebee agreed.

"You wouldn't happen to know how Ratchet is handling his '_retirement'_ would you?" Kup queried lightheartedly as he leaned against a desk. "Primus I haven't seen that mech in eons it seems."

"Well, he's Metroplex's CMO, so he keeps pretty busy," the mini-bot chuckled. "Not to mention his younglings are a handful a piece. Actually, Blaster, the twins have been asking about you. They want you to get back soon. Worried they'll have to play sparkling-sitter for Rumble and Frenzy."

The youngling twitched. "Actually, I changed my mind. I don't want to go home yet."

The room at large let out a chuckle at that. Moonracer stood up striding for the door. "You still want to join me on patrol, Blaster?"

The youngling glanced at Bumblebee who nodded his approval, "I should be headed back to my own shift anyway."

"Right now?" Springer frowned. "It's the middle of the Orn!"

"Well shifts work a little differently in Metroplex, especially for the Protectoriate," Bumblebee admitted with some awkwardness. "Ratchet set up the schedule when he was in charge and Inferno never changed it. I'm sure there's some…medical reason or other behind it."

"Probably," Kup snorted in amusement. "Leave it to Ratchet to make life more complicated like that."

"Well if you're leaving, then… I think I would like to go on patrol," Blaster admitted after a moment of thought.

The femme beamed. "Great. Walk or ride?"

The youngling's optics lit up. "Ride!"

"Let's go," they headed for the lift, Bumblebee following behind when the youngling paused.

"Can Prowl come to? If he's not too busy?"

All attention in the room turned towards Prowl's desk as the Praxian's wings twitched in curiosity. "I'm sure you will be fine with Moonracer if you're nervous."

The youngling shuffled his peds. "Well I was just thinking that maybe we'd go by the place that Steeljaw got taken. There might be some clues. Monsters or not."

Prowl looked to Kup, who sighed in resignation. "Not that it would do me much good to stop you. So long as you don't have any pressing—"

"You're welcome to check my work for errors."

Kup gave the younger mech a stern, albeit slightly amused look. "I'm sure your work is _fine_."

"Very well. Moonracer? Do you mind?"

"Not at all!" She nodded, and they made room in the lift for the Praxian mech to join them.

"Give us a call if Prowler gets too invested," Jazz called as the doors began to close. "You know how he gets on a detective kick."

Moonracer laughed. "Will do, Jazz," and as the lift doors closed and they headed to ground level she added with playful firmness in her voice. "Hear that, Prowl? You need to restrain yourself."

Prowl sighed, flitting his wings dismissively. The action earned a small giggle from the youngling, which in turn deserved a few amused looks from the adults.

"What? I just find it funny that you can talk with those things on your back," he chirped.

"I think you're going to make a fine member of the Enforcers some day, Blaster," Moonracer hummed, crossing her arms thoughtfully. "You're pretty observant for just a kid."

"Being small gives you an interesting vantage point," Bumblebee mused, giving Blaster a wink as the lift reached the bottom and the doors opened. "You be good now, okay Blaster? I'll be back in a few shifts. Oh!" He looked to the other adults with a frown. "Is he going to be staying with one of you during the Iorn?"

"We hadn't really thought of that, I don't think," Moonracer admitted, giving Prowl a worried look. "I guess we were expecting that someone would be taking him back home, but seeing as that's not the case…"

The Praxian mech looked down at the youngling. "What do you think, Blaster? Kup could easily arrange for you to stay here for the next two shifts if you would like to see what this station is like during busier joors."

The youngling frowned in thought. "I've seen busy. Busier than anything this sector has to offer. Couldn't I just stay with you?"

"Me?" Prowl repeated, flickering his optics in surprise. The orange youngling nodded.

"Maybe we could look for Steeljaw," he admitted, daring to hope the answer would be yes.

The older mech sighed. "Commander Soundwave has ordered us to leave the matter be for now. I am not going to disobey a superior…I'm sorry."

A wilting sigh, "I was afraid you'd say that…"

"Hey, I know!" Moonracer jumped in, smiling as brightly as she could. "How about you spend the Iorn with me? I could give you a tour of some of the best places to visit in Iacon. You know, put some actual memories to the places on your map diagrams!"

"That could be fun," Bumblebee added, nudging the youngling's shoulder. "Maybe it'll get your mind off things for awhile. And hey! If I hear any developments about Steeljaw, I'll com. Prowl right away, and he can pass the message on to you! That way you both stay informed."

"I guess that would be okay," the youngling admitted, still looking dejected, but with a little more spark in his optics.

"Great. See you soon, alright?" The mini-bot waved before transforming into his compact vehicular form and speeding off toward the bright, distant lights of Metroplex. Blaster waved after him.

"So. How about we start that patrol?" Moonracer suggested, transforming into her own alt. mode with a hop, skip and a jump. A few panels on the back surface parted into an area that was normally reserved for carrying energon or other small parcels. "Climb aboard."

Blaster's expression brightened at the prospect of a ride and he quickly clambered on. Most places in Metroplex didn't really need to be driven to, since most of the space the sector took up was vertically-inclined. Rides were rare, and Blaster wouldn't be getting the codes for his own alt. mode until he was at least a fledgling, and then only if Soundwave deemed him worthy. It was a great landmark on the course to adulthood after all.

Prowl followed suit with his own transformation and they were off into the dimly lit streets. Blaster's face split into a grin as he felt the air pulled over the sensors under his armor and the inertia of moving forward at a sprinting pace. The quick glimpses of the world around him before they were too far away to see suddenly made everything appear much more interesting as he only had a klick or two to really decide what he thought about something before it was gone.

"See, _this_ is why the Orn is so great. Bots don't give it enough credit," Moonracer laughed from beneath him. "I guess most bots just don't appreciate a clear road."

"Those that do are typically breaking the law," Prowl reminded from behind them.

"Oh come on, like you don't enjoy it," Moonracer sped up a little, though Prowl did not give into the bait. "He's just no fun sometimes."

Had she been in her bipedal form, the laugh the youngling gave at that comment would have brought a smile to her face as well. Poor kid, it was good to see him actually looking happy, despite what he had gone through.

They patrolled all the regular routes in blissful silence, only broken by an occasional observation or note about a particular area they passed. As usual, they didn't come across any trouble, at least not anything worth reporting to Kup. They did find some other younglings that looked to be pulling some pranks, but nothing illegal (even if Prowl did find their misbehavior concerning). Towards the end of their route, Moonracer slowed.

"So you wanted to show Prowl the scene of the crime," she asked lightly.

Blaster nodded, looking to have nearly forgotten about that detail and quickly accessed his map. "It was…here."

He opened a hologram from a small projector on his palm, showing a self-marked blip on the screen. Prowl transformed to study the map more carefully.

"Oooh! A projector already, and you're only how old?" Moonracer clicked.

"Soundwave uses them a lot since she doesn't talk," the youngling explained casually. "I guess because she uses them so much is why she gave them to us too."

"It certainly is convenient," Prowl confirmed with a nod. "We don't need to go far. I'll lead."

He transformed and they started off. In a couple breems they had arrived in front of the alleyway. It didn't look as dark as Blaster remembered, but the lingering shadows around the edges still sent a sense of unease into his spark at the memory of large hands reaching from their depths. Still, not one to appear afraid, he hopped off of the teal vehicle and approached the alleyway with purpose.

"This is it," he confirmed as the adults got their legs under them. Prowl followed the youngling into the shadows as the young mech relayed the events as best his memory banks could recall. This was honestly quite impressive. Normally in these situations the Praxian would have expected a youngling to panic, and therefore corrupt the memory files, but it seemed that Blaster had managed to keep his anxiety low enough to be a valuable witness.

"And how tall would you say the mech was?" Prowl queried as he surveyed some scratches on the ground, almost certainly left by Steeljaw.

"Maybe twice your height?" Blaster guessed with a frown. "I never got a really good look at him…"

"That's pretty tall," Moonracer commented, doing the measurements in her processor as she assessed the wall. "I would think a bot that big would be hard to miss."

"He stuck to back-ways like this."

"He's probably quite familiar with the area," Prowl added, looking down the length of the alley. "I don't see much in the way of evidence here. Though if the mech is as big as you say, I'd imagine his shoulders would hardly fit. Can you possibly remember the route he took in his escape? You said before you tried to follow the mech until he outpaced you completely. Perhaps there are some scratches of paint on the walls that were left in his exit."

Blaster looked down the alley as well, seemingly unsure. "I can try. Over this way."

"We should head back before too much longer," Moonracer reminded them, though she followed the search with sharp objects always hunting for anything that seemed out of place.

"This won't take long," Prowl assured.

They weaved along the alleys that made up the maintenance and emergency network between buildings, allowing bots to reach the central areas of larger facilities without having to navigate confusing interiors as much. As such, some alleys were covered by the buildings above them, shrouding the bots in darkness that their lights could not fully vanquish from every corner. Drones wandered about their feet, picking up scraps of metal and cleaning stains, or repairing damage. Prowl frowned, hoping that they had not yet finished cleaning any evidence the perpetrator might have left behind.

"This is where I lost him," Blaster finally sighed as they came to an intersection. He pointed down the shortest path that led to the street, "And that's where you came into the picture."

The Praxian mech hummed. "Indeed. And seeing as I saw no especially large mech along the way, that narrows the possible paths down to two."

"Can I make an educated guess?" The two mechs turned to Moonracer expectantly. "Most reports of these sorts come from the periphery of Iacon. That path would take us close to the border, and as we know, there's nothing but metal fields and outdated facilities out that way."

"Plenty of places for a mech of that size to hide," Prowl looked down the road before them, seeming almost wistful. "Moonracer, are you still in regular contact with Hound?"

"We chat when we get the chance," she quirked an optic ridge at him. "Let me guess, you want to hear what he as to say on these stories?"

"If at all possible."

"I can help!" Blaster piped up as they headed back onto the main street. "That is…if you're going to be seeing this bot in the upcoming Cycle."

Moonracer grinned at Prowl as though to tell the mech just _how_ adorable she thought mini-detective-Blaster was. "That's actually a great idea! I'll see if I can get a hold of him when we return to the station. Official investigative business and all that," she winked as she initiated transformation to her alt. Mode. "But for now, we need to get back before Kup has too many reasons to nag at us."

The rest of the shift passed by uneventfully for Kup's team. There were the regular disturbances to tend to and old stories for the aged mech to tell. Actually, Blaster appeared to come to like the stories of days when being an Enforcer hadn't been quite so complicated. Springer even enacted some of his own favorite scenes for the youngling's enjoyment.

Then, at last there was a deep, rumbling hum, barely felt or heard. Blaster was ushered to the window to watch as each sector of Iacon flickered starting at the factories and refineries and spreading out from there as Cybertron pumped their energy-giving life force back to the surface for all to use. The horizon lit with a thousand lights below and bright towers piercing the sky.

The Iorn had begun, and with it, the streets were already filling with bots hurrying to their respective shifts, or to get-togethers with friends. Kup's team managed to all squeeze into the lift at once and headed down to ground level, where their commander passed control onto the next shift director waiting for them at the base. Blaster left with Moonracer after many warm goodbyes from the team.

Prowl, for his part, decided to head home. The Orn had given him much to think about, and it was easier to think in the quiet peace of his own apartment.

"Let me guess. Didn't find anything?"

His wings hiked up briefly in the hopes that Jazz would get the message to just leave him alone. He didn't care to hear anything from the shorter mech right now.

"Well don't let it put a damper on your sparkling personality! I know you're disappointed, but the world needs to see you smile, Prowler."

"Don't you have someplace to be? Anywhere actually?"

"Nothing pressing," Jazz shrugged as he chose to walk annoyingly right in stride with is co-worker.

"Anything we might have discovered is not your concern."

"I'm an Enforcer, ain't I? Hey, I'd like to know what really happened to the cat too. I'm just trying to be the voice of reason here, is all."

"If you are being so reasonable, then you should realize it might be best to mind your own business," Prowl warned. "You've made your opinion on the matter quite clear already."

Jazz smirked at him. "And yet you still won't even consider it. You want so badly for there to be something out there that's undiscovered that you won't accept that maybe it _is_ just nothing. Maybe all these cases you've been working on really _are_ just coincidence."

Prowl might have come up with a retort if Jazz had not decided to pick that moment to vanish into the crowd. The Praxian mech flared his wings in agitation, perhaps in part because Jazz always insisted on having the last word and not making argument possible. Trying to push his irritation at the visored mech aside, he again headed for home.

He knew that most bots would never be able to take him seriously again if they learned he believed in 'monsters'. His own superior had looked at him with contempt whenever the subject came up, but Prowl couldn't let it go. Not when there was so much information out there to the contrary that every other bot was happy to disregard.

Not when he felt, for the first time, that he was so close to discovering the truth.


End file.
